More from Vegas

Full day yesterday, another coming up. Posted are pictures from the auction last night.

Wednesday PM

Today was a big day of panel discussions. This morning the topic owas The Victorian West: Virtue and Vice. The panelists got right down to the nitty gritty in talking about gambling, prostitution, venereal disease, etc. A great story dealt with a gambler who, when he died, had a baptist, Presbyterian, Jew, and a catholic speak, he wanted to cover the odds.

This afternoon Getting It Right: Writing About Cowboys had several old grizzled old time cowboys who laughed at how many writers have portrayed them and their activities.


Second this afternoon - Black Cowboys in the West dealt with how large Ola presence blacks were in the West. The picture shows the members of this one.

Lastly the discussion centered around the Old Spanish Trail, the least interesting to me.


The second fellow on this picture is known as Cowboy Mike. He possesses the heartiest laugh I've ever heard. I shouldn't have talked to my editor, he gave me two more books to review for Roundup magazine. Now my pile is seven books high. Oh we'll, I guess I asked for it. More tomorrow.

Location:Las Vegas Blvd S,Winchester,United States

Wednesday @ WWA

here is the poster that says it all. More to come.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Las Vegas

In Las Vegas

I made it to the WWA convention, but I'm having trouble figuring out this mini iPad.  I'll try again tomorrow.

4-4-0 and more

Finding information and collecting my thoughts in preparation to start the next writing project, I started thinking about the old railroad engines that whistled, steamed, and smoked through my little hometown.  There were many configurations of wheels on the engines, and this one shows a 4-4-0 arrangement - four wheels in front, four driver wheels, and no trailer wheels, a very typical engine in the late 1800's, I have a commemorative collector plate hanging on my office wall of  Locomotive No. 1, The William Crooks  which says on the reverse side, "The first locomotive to operate in Minnesota."  Garage sales result in some great finds, this included.  On the accompanying Certificate of Authenticity, this statement appears: Completed in 1862 for the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, this locomotive made its first run between St. Paul and St. Anthony, now Minneapolis.  The Crooks was carried for many years as Locomotive No. 1 on the roster of the Great Northern Railway, a BNSF predecessor.   Comparing this picture to the one on my plate, I can find no difference.  Vintage photos show similar engines used in North Dakota during this period.

Railroads weigh heavily in any thinking about old towns in pioneer days. Towns either existed because a rail line went through or withered and died because the railroad bypassed them. Picture this humorous scene in my hometown as reported in the newspaper: December, 1866 – “Tuesday afternoon the snowplow came through, ran into a little snowbank close to the depot, and before the smiling agent could wink, he was nearly buried with the 'beautiful.'” In February, 1885 we learn that “the freight business of the Fargo and Southwestern is rapidly on the increase. Twenty cars of freight passed west yesterday.” This fellow had quite the ride: “A man who rode in a sealed box car loaded with salmon from Portland, Oregon was heard crying for water in the Northern Pacific yards at Fargo, Dak and was promptly arrested.” Trains spooked horses: “Liveryman Hickey met with quite a painful accident on Sunday afternoon. He was leading a colt which became frightened at the whistle of a locomotive of one of the gravel trains and plunging forward, hit Mr. Hickey with his shoulder, breaking a couple of ribs.” (Hickey, I've learned, was an experienced horseman.) It took lots of manpower to build and maintain a railroad: “A gang of the swarthy sons of Italy have been assisting the regular section crew putting in new ties for the past two weeks.”

Certain events in history have enough importance to find preservation in books such as the killing winter of 1886-87, and when we read of events leading up to it one wishes he could holler loudly, “Stop, can't you see what's going to happen!” This appeared in the May, 1885 issue of The Sheldon Progress: “Thousands of head of cattle have been bought in Northwestern Iowa in the last few weeks to be taken to the large ranches in Dakota and Montana for fattening purposes.” This is the stuff of science fiction, being sent back in time to alter history. Teddy Roosevelt's investment disappeared in this winter of severe blizzards and cracking cold. He thought it would be easy money to buy cattle, fatten them on prairie grass, and ship them out for a large profit. Hundreds of thousands of cattle died.

My favorite line from our old newspaper states this to confirm in my mind that Sheldon once stood on the edge of the frontier: “Several prairie schooners passed through town yesterday bound for the west.”

About that same time this appeared: “Saturday was a lively day in Sheldon. Thirty or forty teams could be counted on Front Street at almost any hour of the day.” I aim to tell some of these stories.

***
Ole and Sven were on a train taking a trip to Nort Dakoda.  A beautiful woman in front was saying she heard the Dakoda Indians were the world's best lovers.  She asked Ole what his name was, and he says "Ole Redfeather."

***

Change

This blogsite is undergoing a bit of freshening up. Change is inevitable. It's been said the only constant in this world is change. There are still some things to do in remodeling, but this is a first step. I need more help from Brandon before I call it done. I thought about establishing a website, something which can be a little different, but I decided to stay with this blogger site. To be added will be some links, plus another category or two.

But this blog is not going to be about change, just the opposite: some people don't want change in their lives. Some of the great books, as far as I'm concerned, are about old codgers who refuse modern ways. The book Monte Walsh tells the story of a cowboy who wanted to keep on doing things the way he always did. Jack Schaefer, the author, has a storekeeper asking Monte why he threw a man out a closed window for repeatedly asking a certain question. “What question?” the storekeeper wondered. “Why, when was I going to turn my horse in on a goddamned autymobile.” Schaefer is the one who also wrote Shane.

Elmer Kelton wrote a good many highly respected western novels. He writes in one, The Good Old Boys, that Hewey Calloway “... lives in an impossible dream, trying to remain changeless in a world where the only constant is change.” I regret not having had the chance to meet Kelton. He regularly attended the Western Writers conventions and had many admirers among the other writers. Unfortunately, I joined up too late since he passed away several years ago.

Luddites were a group of British workers who between 1811 and 1816 rioted and destroyed laborsaving textile machinery in the belief that such machinery would diminish employment. Owners of the factories became victimized by Luddites who wanted the old ways left intact. Once in awhile the term luddite still gets resurrected and used in dialogue of today.

On the wall in front of my desk, at eye level, hangs an 11x14 picture of a Buffalo Pitts steam engine entering a shallow ford on the Sheyenne River. Hitched to it is a threshing machine. A loaded bundle wagon stands behind, and on either side, in water, are a horse and buggy and a team pulling a water wagon. I recently acquired it from Tom Spiekermeier of Sheldon. The picture appeared in 1981 Sheldon Community History with the caption “The Wall Bros. Threshing Crew crossing the 'Froemke' Sheyenne River crossing south of Anselm, ND. This is just west of where Argil Froemke now lives.”

In searching archival newspapers I ran onto a few notations pertaining to this very outfit in 1901: July 19 - “Fred Wall and brother Alfred have bought a fine new threshing outfit and will make the straw fly this fall.” August 2 – Harvest hands are getting $2.00 a day and that is about right.” August 9 – The whistle of the steam engine is heard in the early morn – threshing is under way.” and August 30 – Last Friday was a damp day and made threshing a slow process, yet Fred Wall seems to have gotten there with both feet. He threshed on that day 2121 bushels wheat, 90 bushels of oats, and 32 bushels of barley. The total time in the field was 11 hours and five moves were made during the day. The separator was a 40-60 Nichols and Shepard, Red River Special and a Pitts 22 H.P. engine.” Whether or not the picture was taken in 1901 can't be determined from the information I have, but it is safe to assume at the least it was taken in the early 1900's.

Earlier research on High-Low Water Trails between Forts Abercrombie and Ransom leads me to believe this would have been one of the fords used at the time of the bullwhacker and mule skinner freighting days between the two forts.  

The Medicine Horn, aka Powder Horn

 

In three weeks I'm heading to the Western Writers of America convention in Las Vegas.  There are so many good writers that show up at these things that no way can a man have read all of their works.  One man who is receiving a special award, Jory Sherman, who will take home the coveted Owen Wister Award.  I had never read his work, so off to the library I went and have just finished reading The Medicine Horn.  I was not surprised to discover that he is a very good writer, and, over the course of a long writing career, has written a good many books.  For The Medicine Horn the WWA awarded him a Golden Spur Award, so it was one I wanted to read for sure.  In it a story of early settlers moving west unfolds.  A man raises his son by himself because the wife runs off, and when a fire destroys everything they had worked for in Kentucky, they took off to St. Louis to follow the dreams and stories of beaver trapping in the mountains.  The author was a genius in leaving the ending to be followed up by more books, something which he did do.  What is the significance of the powder horn?  It was given to the son as a gift by a mountain man who had planted the seed of heading westward.  If a person only had the time to read all of the good books!
*     *     *
Speaking of the convention, I just received my assignments to cover and write articles for the upcoming issue of "Roundup" magazine.  One of the featured events is a tour to the Mob Museum, officially known as the National Museum of Organized Crime and Law Enforcement.  I'm to interview several of the tour participants and find out what kind of ideas they formed after visiting the facility.  Wife Mary says now we'll find out what kind of a writer you are.   Another assignment is to report on the "Editors and Agents" panel and focus on trends, and what types of writing they are looking for.  And people think these conventions are all just fun and games.  Other panels for which other writers have been assigned to cover are The Victorian West, - Writing About Cowboys, -  Black Cowboys in the West, -  Old Spanish Trails, - Legal Issues and Rights, -  Researching and Writing About the Mormon West,  - WWA Traditions and Memories, -  Songwriting the West: Regional Influences, - Spur Award Winners and Finalists,  - Writing Western Songs, - Authenticating History, - and Marketing.  The days do get filled with informational meetings.  Of course, in the evening, the guitars come out and the whiskey flows.  I still drink O'Douls.  (By the way, the WWA sponsors a nice website, and many of the "Roundup" articles can be found there.)
*     *     *
And I worried a couple of weeks ago about the fields blowing away in a dry wind.  Not gonna happen this year.  We've been getting so much rain, accompanied by cool temps, that farmers aren't getting their field work finished.
*     *     *

One summer evening during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her small boy into bed. She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a tremor in his voice, "Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?" The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. "I can't dear," she said. "I have to sleep in Daddy's room." A long silence was broken at last by a shaken little voice saying, "The big sissy."

Some more?  OK - Where did the meteorologist stop for a drink after a long day in the office?  The nearest ISOBAR.  -  What do you call two straight days of rain in Seattle?  A weekend.